Skip to main content

Eulogy (part 1)

My father spent the last few years of his life on the streets of San Jose, homeless. He separated from his wife. He refused to take medication that would’ve helped him deal with being Bipolar. He refused help and handouts. His driving force for living another day was securing my inheritance and ultimately his legacy. He lost most of his grip on reality at that time, but still very much brilliant and majestic. My aunt and uncles found him once and had him admitted into a home for mental patients. He was out processed shortly after, because the doctors and other caregivers could find no insanity in him whatsoever. He was described as charming and engaging. And so he returned to the streets of San Jose, a prince.

I flew out to San Jose when I was notified of his death. I walked the streets where he roamed and ruled, my father the prince. I sensed his charm and majesty as I stood in the place where he drew his last breath. Equally I felt his pain and failure as I wondered what was going through his mind that night as he waited to die on the sidewalk. In his wallet, two dollars and five dimes, hardly the inheritance he expected to leave for me. I wish he knew that I didn’t give a damn about the money. He wouldn’t accept that and for the longest, I didn’t understand. It wasn’t until he died, that I finally understood why what he would leave for me was so important to him. He was worried about his legacy. How would I remember him? Would I honor him? I felt anger as I wondered why he didn’t want to be rescued. Why didn’t he humble himself and ask for help? But I guess all royalty struggles with asking for charity.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Force of Divorce (part 1)

I don’t think we truly understand what divorce is and why God hates it. For example, if I gave you the Merriam Webster’s definition of divorce, the action or instance of legally dissolving a marriage , more than likely you'll find that definition insufficient. If you are divorced or your parents are divorced, you know that definition lacks depth and substance. It’s like a survivor of a devastating hurricane describing his experience as “I witnessed a tropical cyclone with winds of 156 mph that was accompanied by heavy rain thunder and lightning.” You know that surviving a category 5 hurricane is bit more involved than announcing a weather report. (Ask anyone who survived Hurricane Katrina.) And yet every survivor’s story is unique and personal. I especially believe we don’t get what divorce does to our children. I’m not saying that I completely understand it either. I’ve never been divorced, (not even close), but I do know how it affected me as a kid. ...
6 comments
Read more

Day 19: Write in Someone Else’s Voice

The Coward The boy’s voice awakened the man.   He found shelter in the abandoned school, in what was once, his school, his office.   Eleven, twelve, and thirteen year old students once ran down those halls, hurrying to their classes, hurrying to his English class. Now since the incident, no children survived that massacre.   That thought made the man shake with fear until he drifted off to sleep.   So when the man heard the boy’s voice screaming “Help Me!, Please Help Me!”   it shook the man from his sleep.   The man laid still.   His heart pounded as he waited to hear boy again.   “Help me! Please Somebody!” The man heard the boy loud and clear.   He could not pretend it was some animal or dream.   He knew it was a boy. And it paralyzed him.   The man clutched his knees to his chest and tucked his chin.   He took slow deep breaths, silent breaths, hoping the boy would believe he was on his own, ...
Post a Comment
Read more

breath taking

the essence of the mountain; i'm standing on it, our ecstasy, it captures love's atonement love...,can't buy...sell it or loan it purpose in this life, you know you want it, love's like blood, it's death's opponent it flows through your veins and arteries, don't it? but when you're cut, it burns like alcohol on it all the bads and the blames it's time we own it, prayers without words, sighs and groanings your spirit torn open, my soul is mourning but love's in the midst of the painful moments making love, is more than moves and moaning it's the spirit interlocking of man and woman the soul's always searching and constantly roaming but true love is only made when souls are growing.
1 comment
Read more